


Will You Let Me in Your Heaven?

by Amp3tamin3dr3ams



Category: H2OVanoss - Fandom, Vanlirious
Genre: Alcohol, Anxiety, Depression, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-11-05
Updated: 2015-11-05
Packaged: 2018-04-30 03:53:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,501
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5149301
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Amp3tamin3dr3ams/pseuds/Amp3tamin3dr3ams
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Trigger Warnings: Alcohol use, anxiety, and depression</p><p> "Jonathan was drunk. His head swam in the warmth the liquor provided him with; his wobbly legs struggled to keep him standing; the amber liquid was happily swashing around his otherwise empty stomach; his vision was blurred and his surroundings kept fading in and out of his line of sight. And he felt amazing. For the first time in months, he tongue felt free of any knots and he felt as though he could say anything that crossed his intoxicated mind."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Will You Let Me in Your Heaven?

**Author's Note:**

  * For [WatchAndLearnKid](https://archiveofourown.org/users/WatchAndLearnKid/gifts).



Jonathan was drunk. His head swam in the warmth the liquor provided him with; his wobbly legs struggled to keep him standing; the amber liquid was happily swashing around his otherwise empty stomach; his vision was blurred and his surroundings kept fading in and out of his line of sight. And he felt amazing. For the first time in months, he tongue felt free of any knots and he felt as though he could say anything that crossed his intoxicated mind.

Jonathan was absolutely and completely drunk, and he was loving every second of his freedom. Anxiety and depression weren’t clouding his mind for once, and he wasn’t constantly stressing over making videos for his YouTube channel. He laid on his couch in his boxers, a fresh bottle of Jack Daniels in one hand and his cell phone in the other. His fingers ached to dial the number that flashed on the blue screen. The burning urge was almost too much to bear and it was driving Jonathan up the peeled walls of his apartment, and his mind was screaming at him to hush the urge with another drink. He didn’t want to, though. He couldn’t pass up this opportunity. The shackles of his anxiety and painful shyness were finally off of him, and he knew if he didn’t do this now he would never.

So, before his conscious could nag him again, he pressed the call number and listened to the dial tone until the heavenly voice answered groggily.

His heart rate picked up and his breath became almost too fast for his lungs to keep up. _This was it._ This was the perfect time to tell him—tell him everything he had been feeling for these past few months. He was drunk and not thinking straight, and he was sure the person on the other line was too sleepy to process exactly what was happening.

“Delirious, man, are you there?”

After releasing a breath he wasn’t aware he was holding, Jonathan answered, “Yeah, I’m here.”

“Everything okay?”

He couldn’t do it, not over the phone at least. He wanted to see his reaction as he spilled every single word that sat in his throat waiting to be released. The alcohol fueled their need to see the world, to rip away and be on display after months and months of neglect. They refused to be ignored anymore. They were causing a storm in his heart and he ached so badly to calm it down.

“Skype?” Jonathan asked.

“You’re scaring me, dude. Are you okay?” His voice was panicked, fully alert now and all of the alluring sleepiness gone from it.

Jonathan ran a hand through his messy brown hair and down his numb face. “Yeah, just get your bitch ass on Skype.”

“Alright,” he slowly replied. “I’ll be on in five minutes.”

“Okay.”

He hung up before his intoxicated tongue got the best of him. Waiting for him to get on Skype was unadulterated torture. It gave him just enough time to second guess his decision to admit his feelings, and for the anticipation be too much to handle. He wanted to scream, wanted to break everything in sight, wanted to pull his hair straight out of his scalp and bury himself in a hole and to never be found. He was an idiot—a drunken, impulsive, idiot. There was no possible way in hell he could do this. How could he? How could he tell his best friend his feelings without ruining their friendship? Because there was no way his best friend felt the same way about him—no possible way at all. This was a mistake, all of this. But before he could back out, the Skype icon popped up on his computer behind him, signaling someone was calling him. He contemplated ignoring the call and drinking until he passed out, but he knew his friend would just blow up his phone until he answered him. Reluctantly and begrudgingly, he dragged himself to his laptop and answered the call.

Evan’s raven hair was adorably messy and he had the ghost of drool around his mouth, but he looked as awake as ever as he stared at Jonathan. It was the shocked look Evan was giving him that let him know his camera was on and he was a goddamn fool. Panic gripped his chest and he stuttered like a coward, trying to find something to say to get rid of Evan’s shock.

“De-Delirious?” Evan asked, causing Jonathan to stop in his tracks.

Jonathan shyly smiled and offered an awkward wave. “In the flesh.”

After a few attempts at speaking, the Asian finally said, “Is this what you needed me on Skype for, to show me your face?” Before Jonathan could answer, Evan asked, “Wait, have you been crying? Jonathan, what’s wrong? Talk to me, please?”

His heart ached at the worry in his voice, knowing he was worried just because he was a friend. There was no possible way Evan felt the same way about him and he was so fucking stupid for even hoping that maybe, just maybe, he did. He felt like a lost child with Evan looking at him with that stupid anxious expression. He wanted to run and hide for the rest of his life, and he hated Evan for being himself. God, he hated him so badly in that moment. He hated him for caring, for worrying, for picking up the phone in the first place, for getting on Skype. If he didn’t care, if he didn’t worry, if he weren’t Evan fucking Fong, Jonathan wouldn’t have fallen for him in the first place. He wouldn’t have the ludicrous idea of them happily dating and spending the rest of their lives together. His heart wouldn’t be shattering in that very moment because he knew there was no way his feelings were returned.

“No, never mind,” Jonathan muttered and prepared to hung up. “This was a stupid idea…”

“Don’t fucking hang up on me, Jonathan,” Evan pleaded. “Talk to me, dammit. I’m your friend. Let me be here for you.”

“No, fuck you,” Jonathan yelled, and he saw Evan flinch. Guilt flashed in his mind for a split second but he carried on. “You’re the reason I’m in this fucking mess.”

“What the hell are you talking about?”

“I have to get shit-faced drunk just to get you off of my mind. Do you know how many nights I’ve spent depressed because I know I’ll never be good enough for you? I’ve listened to you bitch over and over about not finding the right girl. ‘Oh, she’s too controlling.’ ‘She’s too clingy.’ 'She’s too bossy.’ And here I am, ready to give you anything and everything you fucking need. But will you give me the time of day? No. All because I have a fucking dick instead of a vagina.” His breathing and heart rate were spasmodic by the time he was done screaming, and he could feel hot tears streak down his face. But he didn’t care. All he cared about was the expression on Evan’s face—anger, fear, confusion, and disappointment.

“Jonathan, listen—”

“No, I’ve been listening for years. It’s your turn to listen.” He was seeing red, and he wished he could just bite his tongue off and then throw it into the ocean but he was far too committed to his speech to give up now. At this point, Evan looked like a ball of emotions. His hair was strewn in different directions from him running his hand through it; the rise and fall of his chest was erratic as if he was struggling to breathe; and his dark, Asian eyes had a wild gleam to them Jonathan had never seen before. In that moment, Evan was the most beautiful thing Jonathan had ever had the blessing to lay his eyes on, and he absolutely loathed him for that.

“Alright,” Evan said reluctantly and gulped. “The floor is yours.”

“I hate you,” Jonathan whispered as he looked at his hands, refusing to watch Evan’s reaction.

The confusion and naivety in Evan’s voice was heart-shattering as he asked, “What the fuck? Why? Did I fuck up?”

“No, you didn’t fuck up and that’s what’s fucking me up. We’re so fucking perfect for each other and you can’t see that. It makes me feel like shit, like I’m not good enough. And I’ll never be good enough for you, will I? Because I don’t have the right anatomy. And you know what? That fucking kills me, Evan. The thing that kills me the most is I know how amazing we could be together, I know how happy we could make each other, but you aren’t willing to give us a chance because we’re both guys. It’s such a sad thing to fucking waste because of our goddamn dicks…”

Evan didn’t say a word and Jonathan refused to look him in the eye. It was relentless and torturous. With each passing second sat in silence, Jonathan felt as though someone was shoving cotton balls in his lungs and he was left gasping for fresh air. Pins and needles ran through his hands and he knew it wasn’t just from the alcohol. He thanked God he was already sitting down because, had he been standing up, he would have fallen flat on his ass. He wished he could take a knife to his wrist and bleed out all of the anxiety that haunted his mind, but he instead reached for the bottle of whiskey that laid by his feet and drank half of it in a few desperate gulps. It burned his throat so badly it brought tears to his eyes, but he’d rather have tears from physical pain than panicked tears streaming down his face.

“So, that’s it, huh?” Evan asked in a hushed tone. Jonathan finally had the courage to look at his screen and immediately regretted it. The searing anger in Evan’s eyes was enough to make him bury his head in his arms in a feeble attempt to hide himself. “You get shit-faced drunk and confess you have feelings for me? Really, Jonathan? Are you fucking kidding me?” A loud boom echoed through the computer speakers and Jonathan could only assume that it was Evan slamming his fist down on his desk. “You don’t even stop to ask how I feel. Maybe I’m feeling the exact same as you are! But you wouldn’t know that, would you? You’re too busy being a miserable drunk to ask how the fuck I’m feeling.”

“There’s no way you could feel the way I’m feeling.”

“Oh, are you only allowed to be depressed and lost? Well, excuse the fuck out of me! I’ll make sure to ask for your permission next time I start feeling like this again.” Venom dripped from every word Evan said and Jonathan felt every sting.

It only fueled his self-loathing feelings even more and, before he could stop himself, he started to cry harder than ever. Evan opened his mouth but Jonathan quickly cut him off. “I’m fucking in love with you, goddammit, and I hate it. I hate every second of it. I hate seeing you smile knowing it’s not because of me. I hate not being able to kiss you the way I need you, hold you the way I need to, be there to cheer you up when you’ve had a shitty day. It fucking kills me to hear you talk about how alone you feel when I’m right fucking here. Open your damn eyes, Evan! I’m right here, ready to give you everything you need. Why can’t you see that?” By the time he was done yelling, his chest felt like it was going to cave in. His throat felt like sandpaper and every breath he took felt like liquid fire, and he loved it. He welcomed the familiar pain with a sadistic grin and open arms, because feeling pain was better than being numb. Feeling pain meant you were real, honest, and alive, and Jonathan had been craving to feel those things since his epiphany about his feelings towards Evan.

But Evan didn’t look alive. Evan looked shocked and even a little scared. His hands shook and his eyes kept darting around his empty room. As masochistic as it was, Jonathan wanted to hold the younger man, make all of his negative feelings go away, brush his dark hair out of his eyes and kiss his forehead until all of the worry-wrinkles were gone, but he couldn’t. He was the reason those worry-wrinkles were there in the first place and that put a needle through his heart.

Evan licked his lips a few times before finally saying, “You’re in love with me?” His voice was devoid of all of the strength it had earlier. It sounded lost, small, and hopeless.

Jonathan couldn’t bear to look at him anymore. He closed his eyes and rested his head against the back of his chair. “Yeah, I am. And if you don’t want to talk to me anymore then I under—”

“Jesus, Jonathan, will you let me talk for once?”

He did.

“I don’t know if I’m in love with you…yet. But what I do know is that whatever it is I’m feeling towards you, it’s big. This whole thing scares me, really. I’ve never felt this way about anyone before, let alone another guy. So, please, just be patient, okay? Can you do that for me?”

Jonathan nodded and finally dared to take a peak at his friend. Evan looked naked, broken open and all of him put on display. It was as amazing as it was terrifying. Evan never showed all of his cards. He always had a trick up his sleeve, a smirk hidden underneath a frown, a whole side of him no one ever saw, and for it to be presented to Jonathan in such a spontaneous way was intimidating. But he didn’t run, didn’t look away, didn’t even want to breathe. He wanted to capture this moment the best his drunken mind could and stored it away in a bottle to keep forever.

“Do you want to try and be together? Just so you can get a feel of it, you know?” Jonathan hesitantly asked. The last thing he wanted to do was push Evan. Evan smiled and, holy Jesus, it was the most beautiful thing Jonathan had ever laid his eyes on. His breath caught in his throat and refused to budge, and he was thankful for that because he probably would have said some cliché compliment anyway. He was so captivated by the beauty on his computer screen, he almost didn’t hear him say yes. But he heard it and his heart reacted to it by picking up its pace.

“Just do me a favor?” Evan asked.

“Anything,” Jonathan breathed.

Evan chuckled a little and said, “Call me the next time you’re drunk. You get feisty. I like it.”


End file.
